


After All, We Have Eternity

by glassGeneticist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: As in everyone, But still pretty important character death?, DEATH THERE ITS THERE, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing anymore., I hope people like this, Let's be safe, Mentions of Pre-Scratch Beforan Trolls, Minor Character Death, Multi, Somewhat violent?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassGeneticist/pseuds/glassGeneticist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dolorosa recalls her life since her rebellion in the brooding caverns until her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All, We Have Eternity

It was never going to be easy. You knew this simply by watching lusii select and take their charges away, scowls and soft coos and squeals.

You also noticed this when you took the small, squirming, vibrant red grub from the ground, the very same that had actually come to you, soft and helpless squeaks and wiggling front legs and all. When you plucked it from the ground, cradled it and noted its warmth, you knew if it were to be found by another, it would be culled. It was after you’d made it outside that you realized the worst dilemma of them all. He was a mutant candy red. The vibrance hadn’t been because of the caverns at all. He was naturally this bright and warm. And, he needed protection. Where this sentiment came from you honestly had no idea. Your species was not the type to take in grubs and raise them. That was why lusii existed.

You took another look at the grub in your arms. He smiled and squeaked softly, front legs reaching upward as if to ask for your face to be nearer. Something inside of you melted. That was the last time the caverns had ever seen your presence. The other Jadebloods could tend to the Mother Grub fine without you.

The first sweep was spent nurturing the grub to wrigglerhood. It was difficult, but when he endured and survived his first pupation and you took his sight in, you knew it was worth it. His first word was your name. It was odd. A strangely soft purring coo, and over accentuated ‘O’ and an extended ‘mmm’, but your name nonetheless, and you pitied the way he said it. It was then that you decided to name him.

It took him a quarter of a sweep to master the beginning syllable, and another quarter to refine the final two letter sound of his first name. He learned that he had to hide his blood to avoid being hurt. He learned his letters and numbers. Edibles, inedibles, living creatures, sleeping patterns, and most importantly his sign.

By the time he could form and express coherent thoughts, he was nearly an entire sweep past his first pupation. He was a smart boy. But, the day he first had the pensive look on his face, you knew something was wrong. You didn’t know how you knew, you simply did. His voice was used to distract you from the topic you wished to broach. He asked if you would go outside at night with him to gaze at the green and fuchsia moons of your planet and explain what their purpose was. You did. Then he asked what his was. You had no answer. You told him a story about a revolutionary troll, one with enough of a mind and ambition to follow through with the message that warmer bloods would not dare to even think of in the presence of a cooler casted troll. You told him you weren’t sure how it ended. He said it would end with the man being remembered for all time, he thought, that the man would become a legend that others would be inspired by. It made you smile.

And, then, the day that he had run off on his own and you had nearly torn a mountain in half looking for him. He was hiding in the brush, or trying to, but he knew that he was going to be scolded lest he return to you. He gave in quickly, opting instead to jump into your embrace and apologize. This moment, you thought, was odd in that you felt you’d remember it for the remainder of your life.

This feeling had never failed you before.

Kankri told you of the visions he’d been having, about the world that he, yourself, and many others like The Grand Highblood and the Summoner had been able to cooperate. For a while, you were stunned to hear such words, and for the same reason, you were terrified. You had to ensure no one was around to hear what he was saying lest you both be sold out to the Master Juggalo himself. But, when all Kankri had to say was done, you felt yourself empowered and warmed to your very core at the mere thought of such a wonderful world. A quarter of a sweep later, you had fallen onto a peaked stone as high as your hip, and it killed you. However, something, although even now you aren’t sure what, happened and you managed to pull yourself off of the stone and return home that day. Kankri had noticed the gash and helped you treat it, and as he did, he told you that he had seen it coming and that you were going to go after blood now. You hadn’t been sure what he meant until the next night, when the usual nourishment did nothing and you had nearly sucked the life out of a rust blood.

Sweeps more passed, and you watched as your darling son grew into a fine young troll. Even from a distance, he looked strong, determined, admirable. He had found a friend during those few sweeps, one that would have been taken and used until he died for his blessings. Kankri had also come across a wonderful young lady that listened very intently to every word your son said, and you realized then that it was because he was telling them about his visions. And they were risking being culled for following nigh blindly.

You confronted him one night about this and he merely said that you were worrying over nothing. He had said that he knew how to protect himself and because of the way you have raised him, even if he was captured, he would not be violent in his retaliation. After all, that was exactly what he was doing now, wasn’t it? Retaliating quietly by bringing out the hope in other trolls. For some reason, you wanted to be mad because this was your son risking his own life, his precious life, for something that you were almost certain would fail, but when you thought about it as well as you had then, he was absolutely right. From then on, you did no more than support him and show him the pity of a lusus when you knew that you both felt so much more.

It was about a sweep and a half later when he began calling his lectures sermons and everyone called your darling Kankri The Signless. He was indeed Signless, mostly because you hadn’t been sure what the Cancri star system symbol was when you had christened him with a name, but was it really fair to call someone that was just the same, if not for his unnaturally warm blood, as all the other trolls that listened to his words? The annoyance eventually wore off, and you showered him with affection on the nights that he did not spend with his beloved.

Half a sweep more passed. The revolt had begun just three nights prior, and just as you had feared from his wrigglerhood, he was caught. The worst thing was that as you went to pry the enormous hands of the Grand Highblood off of your son’s neck, he gave you a glance, sidelong at best, that told you to run away, to not watch him as he failed you even though he knew that he could never be a failure in your eyes. The Juggalo hissed an odd mixture of acrid smelling breath and sickeningly foul language before he tossed Kankri into a cart with someone, cursing the way you never thought another troll could and giving orders to a male troll you’d only heard of before: E%ecutioner Darkleer.

They had Kankri chained and bound within seconds, and when you rushed forward, unthinking just like any mother would, to aid your child, to hold him and brush his fears and worries away, his hatred with himself for believing he had failed you, you were surprised to find the wind knocked out of you and yourself on the ground. The Grand Highblood had cackled then, something akin to a growl, and you knew then that it was over.

What you thought was the worst thing that could ever happen was nothing compared to what they made you endure. They had caught you sneaking your way through the corridors of the molding cell they held him in and chained you to a balcony where The Grand Highblood would sit to watch. Apparently, this had been a request of the Juggalo himself once he had heard of your attempt. A guard had been positioned to stay with you at all times, usually kicking you in the stomach hard enough to wake you up if you had started falling asleep, until the night after. Of course, this other higher blooded fool was given breaks, but you weren’t. The first time he left, you thought you would finally be able to sleep, if only for a few moments, but you were rudely awoken by a kick to the stomach again. You were going to ask, but the new guard had slapped you across the face when you had opened your mouth. He told you then that you weren’t allowed rest, that mutant mothers that stole the job of the mother grub and abandoned their own duties deserved to suffer with their children, and honestly those words had chilled you more than his touch on your jaw had.

The night after had finally arrived, and you were given no more than the second best view among all of the spectators. It was difficult to watch the muscle-bound trolls push Kankri forward until he met the stone pillar in the center of the otherwise barren arena, chain him with the cuffs that had been dipped in fire without your knowledge, and then hang him from the top without another care, as if this was normal. The entire night, Kankri endured sharp objects being thrown at him, insults, taunts, ridicule, more physical attacks from high blooded trolls, but he never once cried out, or cursed, or even said a thing besides the sermon he had delivered the night before the revolt had begun. Those words hadn’t been murmured because of weakness or pain at all. In fact, they had sounded stronger than before, and his face was full of pride. This every scene moved you, because even now, your son was trying to get his message across.

And he was being scorned.

The next day came, and you were taken to a lower cell, just below the seats reserved for the low bloods that hadn’t had the gall to join the revolt for fear of the what the Condesce might condone, and chained there during the day, left to watch as your son lost the moisture of his body because of the heat from the sun. This was cruel. Much too cruel.

The evening arrived, thankfully, soon and you were surprised to find his Disciple reaching up to give him a kiss. Even from the distance, you could tell that she was teary-eyed and he was trying to comfort her. You could tell she was worried that the kiss would be their last, that this time spent before the masses arrived to watch him suffer more for his sermons would be the last they would ever have. You felt you knew this because of how well your ears had been trained to sound since your accident and because that awful feeling of dread, utter doom, was churning in your stomach and making you uncomfortable. Something terrible was going to happen tonight.

Once again, those fears were confirmed. Darkleer was present, bow in hand and grimace set for his job. He asked Kankri, whom was still recovering from the heat of the sun, if he had any last words. And then the feeling you had had when he was still just a wriggler.

This was another moment of your life that you’d never forget.

The Final Sermon was delivered and it moved you. It moved the vast majority of the other trolls that had previously been throwing things and calling your son blasphemous names, heretical. It moved them to be silent and listen to him without even breathing. Nearing the end, he said the first curse you had ever heard him say in his life, and he repeated it, emphasizing his anger. And then he went limp. He said that he wasn’t angry with the higher caste for their ways, but mad at himself for believing that his words could do more than his physical strength, He cursed himself and the entirety of Alternia for being too ashamed and afraid to be proud of who they were and their abilities.

And then Darkleer shot the arrow that stole your child’s final breath.

And your world shattered.

You had come to your senses when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, something close to, but not quite, Kankri in warmth, and when you turned to look up, you saw Mituna, giving you an apologetic look and somewhere in his eyes swam grief, even as the chains fell off of you thanks to his ability. None of the crowd previously there, swarming all around you, were here. It was just you, The Psiioniic, The Disciple, and your son. Meulin was nearly as inconsolable as yourself. She had already bounded off of the platform and onto the arena when they had lowered the cuffs he’d been held by, and she was at his side, caressing his face, begging him to breathe again. Mituna had assisted you in reaching the arena’s dirt safely and then stood behind you as you lifted your son up. The Disciple rubbed her olive tears away, stifling her whimpers, and just as he had with you, Mituna placed a hand on her shoulder.

He was still very warm, almost as warm as the irons had been, you assumed from the burns embedded into his wrists. And now, in death, this was not how you had wanted to see him. He was scowling, angry, and it was the sort that was apologetic. He was sorry and he was angry with himself in his last moments because he had failed. He had honestly believed he had failed. You brought him up higher, just enough to give him one of the embraces you had always given him when he had dreamt of terrible things, and then you laid him back down.

The next day, Kurloz had the arrow removed from Kankri’s corpse, the leggings you’d stitched for him removed as well and left a good five meters from where they tossed his body and set it aflame. Meulin, yourself and Mituna all stood as witnesses to his cremation. Neither of you said a word, but you all cried. Neither of you could move, save for Meulin who was hiding in the rafters. You had been chained down for the final time outside of high blood territory, and Mituna had been restrained shortly before he could use his psionics to escape. Darkleer had been given the order to kill anyone on site during the cremation that were not the mutant’s mother or his moirail, so Meulin was his target once he caught sight of her running and clutching the leggings. You waited to see, numbed by the flames and ashes floating up as if begging the sun to take them back, your second child, your son’s lover and the girl you had grown very fond of, die before you as well. It wouldn’t hurt as much now, would it? After all, you had very little left to live for now that Kankri was dead.

But Darkleer faltered.

There was no shriek of sliced air, no yowl or rattle of death, no smell of olive-lime blood, no sound of anything besides that of a remorseful man. The arrow was slowly pushed back forward and dropped onto the hard dirt, and in the faint wind you heard his message to her. It was light and sad, but a command that she followed nonetheless right away. She ran.

It left you and Mituna with dull aches in your chests, but there was no time to grieve over what surely laid in store for Kankri’s surviving darling. The only object left besides the irons that had kept Kankri strung from the stone in the center was thrown at you, the carmine decorating the tip still very much bright and painful to see. It was your gift, they had said. The only thing that they could offer because now even his bones were charred and brittle enough to be dust. Of course, they didn’t even let you touch it. Your hands were bound behind your back and your ankles were in shackles. However, during this last day, you had company. Mituna was with you.

Two days later, you and he were informed of the fates that awaited you. You were to be given, at the Grand Highblood’s pleasure, to whoever offered the most amount of currency. You were sold within the night to Mindfang, a pirate queen with a kismesis in a higher tier than she. Mituna did not fare as well, although it could have been said he had a better fate. He was to be grafted into the Condesce’s ship and used to power it until the end of his days. By that evening, he was gone. But before you two parted, he said something to you that slapped you back into reality. He had told you to be strong and that he knew you and Kankri would always be together. But that wasn’t the metaphorical slap. It was the way he had started his final words to you. He had used your name. No one had said it in so long, you had almost forgotten what it felt like to be identified as someone other than mother. Even then, those were words that never left your consciousness and kept your hopes and faith alive.

Being a slave wasn’t so bad with Mindfang. She wasn’t quite as rough as you had expected, and honestly, within the sweeps, as you were passed from one master to another, you grew fond of her and even looked forward to the time you would spend with her. There were days where the two of you would sit idly and make fantasies up, or days where you helped her make maps, and then there were the few days which she asked about the Heretic Sufferer whose sign that had been given to him after death you concealed in a small necklace beneath your collars. Those days, she listened and in the end, she saw his point of view and even agreed, but could not do anything to change the course of time, nor do more than talk about his messages to other followers. In the end, she had officially ended her kismesissitude with Dualscar, whom had left you barely breathing when he returned you to her.

An argument had erupted, and between the two, you were yanked and yelled over. Much like you did during other times like this, you stopped listening and closed your eyes, waiting for it to end. Occasionally, the note in their voices rose, rose the way that said the argument would end soon and the aches of the too-hard grips they held would finally stop so that you could stare at the dark green bruises that would appear later and you could grieve like you always did when you were alone.

Today that horrible feeling was back. Today, that horrible feeling forced your eyes open, just in time for you to see Dualscar produce a weapon—Ahab’s Crosshairs, you thought—before he shot at the two of you. However, on instinct, in the flash that it should have taken you all those sweeps ago to protect Kankri, you pushed Mindfang away and received the entire blow. Now you could hear yelling, muffled and distant and the edges of your vision were dimming. You could barely see and you knew what was happening. It was so hard to breathe and there was a coldness seeping into the ragged robe you’d grown to call clothing over the sweeps, and a feeling of difficulty to just continue, almost like laziness. But for the first time, you didn’t care. You wanted this. You had lived long enough without your son and you had grown to pity the woman who had gotten her hands on you initially and you had accomplished more than most jade blooded trolls ever did in their lives. You had lived.

They were faint, and wavering in the way they stood. Mindfang looked more like she was going to kill him than he was going to do to her, but there was no more sound, so you weren’t quite sure what they were saying. You were so close to death. Why hadn’t it taken you yet? Maybe you had to bleed out some more. There was no need; there were those familiar numbing points in your arms and legs that called out as if requesting rest, so with a final, dimmed stare to the pair, watching as Dualscar obviously yelled at Mindfang and stormed out, you closed your eyes and smiled. A warm streak doubled in strength when it rolled over the bridge of your nose and met with the other half, and then there was nothing. It was like being submerged in sopor, only there was no room to move. You couldn’t breathe, but then, you didn’t need to. You couldn’t open your eyes, but why would you want to see?

It was like this for a long time until you felt the area you’d thought to have been your left arm ripple and push forward into something thick. You had no idea what happened until there was a push from your other side and the thickness broke for you. Moments later, the entire motionlessness disappeared and you were in a field, one that you recalled as having significant value to you. It wasn’t until you had thoroughly explored the more wooded area and come across a large, singed looking tree that you remembered why. How was it that you were here now when you were positive you were dead?

Of course, you explored and found your home almost ridiculously easily, but there was no one there. Not even a sign that Kankri was there.

And then you heard a shuffling behind you, maybe about ten feet away. On impulse, you turned, teeth gritted and skin flaring to frighten whoever was there, but then you saw who it was and you faltered.

He was shorter, younger, smaller horned like when he had begun maturing, and wearing an awfully bright red sweater that hung over the tops of his thighs, and he was also wearing tight leggings, like the ones you’d sown for him. And some dark shoes to match the pants, which worked really well and for a moment you scolded yourself for not thinking of that. And then it hit you. That was too open of a color. He was a beacon and he needed to hide otherwise he’d be… His eyes.. Where were his pupils? You couldn’t register what you were seeing, not with that bittersweet smile and the brows lifted in concern. But you could hear him. It was his voice. It was him, even if he looked a little odd.

Kankri.

The tension left you with abundant energy and you bounded toward him, pulling him up into a tight embrace. You didn’t care that he was exposed more than you liked, or that he was much younger than what you’d grown to remember during his final days, or that he had no pupils where there should have been that wonderful carmine that covered every inch of his tiny grub body when you had taken him from the brooding caverns. He was here.

He gave you a questioning, somewhat uncomfortable shift and then you felt the warm arms wrap around your body. But he pulled away too soon, still with that sad little smile that made you feel so scared it made you angry. He told you that he wasn’t the Kankri you had known, and that to avoid triggering you, he had made certain to lower his information to a significantly smaller amount. You listened intently to every word he said until he told you that he had watched your entire life unfold, from your birth to your death, and that he had decided that he would push aside his triggers to help you adapt.

It took eternity, literally, for you to adapt. Not to the Dream Bubbles, which you learned you could pass through and meet the other trolls of your home planet, which was once called Beforus, but rather to this new Kankri. He talked a lot. More than yours had. But once you found your other dead self, another Porrim, nothing was quite as bad. Mituna seemed so much more pitiable, Latula was a sweet girl that tried too hard, Aranea was nicer than Mindfang had been even on her best days, Damara was lewd, but you hadn’t really known what to expect, Rufioh was kindly if a bit too coy for his own good, Meulin was deaf but very cute, Kurloz you had a not-so-odd hatred for, Horuss was much more talkative than you thought Darkleer or any of his descendants would ever be, Cronus was another that tried too hard, and Meenah you thought wasn’t too bad once you got to know her.

Eventually, however, you moved onto a new Dream Bubble and found a few other trolls that looked to be about your age, one of which was Mituna. You and he exchanged conversation whilst exploring the new Dream Bubble, and soon came into contact with Meulin.

Not even she had found Kankri.

It took another eternity to enter a new Dream Bubble that might have had the last of your quartet within it, and thanks to the benevolence of the Horrorterrors that kept the dreaming dead in the Bubbles, you did at last catch a glimpse of worn beige-grey leaning casually in the grass.

You had never been happier in death than at that moment, and when he saw you, he leapt up into your arms just as he had as a child and cried into your bosom a series of apologies, which only earned him a shoosh papping and the kisses you had so longed to give him. While the both of your waited for your companions to catch up with you, you verified that this Kankri was your Kankri, and sure enough, there were scorch marks and twisted skin where the cuffs had held him and a small indent where the final arrow had struck him. He told you about the things he had learned since death and how to travel safely between the Bubbles and about so many more things, and most of all that he was so sorry that he had never listened and had come to fail you in the end. You were going to tell him to stop those insecurities but then Disciple and Psiioniic appeared and embraced the two of you tightly.

Scoldings on not thinking so much about failing others when there was nothing of the sort to be concerned about could wait.

After all, you did have eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a while ago, and while waiting to Skype with my girlfriend, I pulled this out and picked up where I had left off. I should mention that I was at the second page this morning and have busted my butt typing out the rest of this, the remaining eight pages, so if it seems rushed, it probably is and urrh I apologize for any mistakes you may find. I'm really sleepy, but I wanted this done, and now it's done, so here. Take it. Leave whatever you think is suitable for this and I'll thank you, no matter what it is. Also, if you like my work, and have any requests, or what have you, I'll be more than happy to attempt it.


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